The Skunk Watchers

Friday, Oct. 14, 1966
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Hull down amidst the garbage, the Soviet trawler was fishing for intelligence. All day it had wallowed along in the wake of the U.S. aircraft carrier Franklin D. Roosevelt, scooping up gobs of creamed beef and soggy lettuce in hopes of finding a classified document inadvertently mixed in the mess. Suddenly another American carrier reared on the horizon, and the Russian skipper bellowed an order. Snorting black diesel smoke and heeling heavily to port, his trawler set a course straight for the newcomer. The chase was on.

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For an hour and 13 minutes the converted Russian tuna boat chased one of the mightiest ships of the Seventh Fleet; in turn, it was chased by one of the scruffiest vessels in the U.S. Navy. The U.S.S. Conserver is a rust-pitted, rickety tug, built in 1945 and capable of a scant 14 knots ("with plenty of wind and a little bit of lying"). Nonetheless, it managed to close on the trawler's starboard side and station itself between the Russian and the carrier, thus averting, if not a collision, then at least an embarrassing change of course on the carrier's part. Frustrated, the Russian ship went back to sniff among the flotsam.

Rules of the Road. It was another typical day on Yankee Station, the patch of the 45,000-sq.-mi. Tonkin Gulf from which U.S. Task Force 77 launch es its air strikes on North Viet Nam. Ever since the 33-ship force arrived, it has been tailed by one or another of the snoopy Soviet trawlers. Equipped with sophisticated electronic gear, the Russian "skunks" (as they are pungently known in Navy parlance) keep a close watch on U.S. air operations, flash their information to beleaguered Hanoi, and do their best to monitor the radars and radios of American ships and planes. From time to time, they make a dash at the U.S. ships in hopes of scaring American skippers into violent evasive maneuvers that could result in a collision with one of the task force's screening destroyers.

The Russians justify their presence in the gulf by flying the flag of the Soviet hydrographic office, and when they move close to U.S. ships they fly the two red balls and white diamond that identify a vessel engaged in underwater search. International rules of the road give such a ship the right of way, and the Russians use the rules liberally to push into American formations.

On the Fantail. The Conserver's C.O., Lieut. Commander Fred Hilder, 34, a plump, pipe-smoking Pennsylvanian, has deep respect for the current Soviet captain's pushing ability. Says Hilder: "He's a hell of a big bear of a man, barechested, and wears a white cloth to shade his head from the sun. And he's got a ship that can turn on a dime."

Most of the time, the Conserver and the Russian trawler Gidrofon (Hydrophone), lie dead in the water, the 'two crews gawking at each other through binoculars. The Russians sunbathe and swim from a rubber life raft; the Americans lounge on the fantail, reading or tossing rubber horseshoes.